


The Devil's Keeper

by teakturn



Series: The Devil's Keeper [1]
Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - John Wick (Movies) Setting, Assassins & Hitmen, Ballet, Black Character(s), F/M, Femme Fatale, Implied/Referenced Torture, Mentor/Protégé, POV Original Female Character, Pining, Possibly Unrequited Love, Pre-John Wick (2014), Ruska Roma (John Wick), Training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-12-07 14:01:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20977073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teakturn/pseuds/teakturn
Summary: “What’s the catch,”John’s lips did smile then, but his eyes went dark, “Once you’re in, they will help you. Take care of you like their own. But once you’re out,” his eyes swept the street. Subconsciously Olympia studied the scene around them too. The street they were on was curiously empty for so early in the morning. There should be way more people rushing by for work, cars rushing by to this delivery or that office job.Instead, everything was still and quiet. As if everything and everyone had paused to hear the man’s offer too.“There is no way out.” the man eventually finished.





	The Devil's Keeper

**Author's Note:**

> *Do not steal or repost my work*

The first time Olympia meets John she’s sixteen and has been on the street for three years. She’d learned a lot, joined a few crews, survived the eventual fall out of most of them. Escaped the ones who took more than they gave back. She knows nothing about assassins, had never heard about the Continental or the High Table. At this point in her life, Olympia’s thoughts volley between “gotta get money” and “keep an eye out for cops”.

When she catches sight of John, he’s a tall, dark-haired man staring moodily out a coffee shop window. His suit looks expensive, tailored. She’d taught herself how to tell the difference ages ago, men in cheap suits had nothing worth stealing. His shoes were expensive but worn, which wasn’t promising. 

But it had been three days since her last meal. Pickpocketing was riskier during slow tourist months. Smaller crowds, more police out and about to watch over the children going to school. And it was rainy all the time. Getting close to anyone was hard enough when it was wet out, nearly impossible when all of her soaked through clothes began to smell like mildew after day two out on the street.

Olympia was certainly pretty enough, innocent-looking enough with her full cheeks and wide green-brown eyes. But a pretty poodle still looked like a soggy dog when wet.

The coffee shop had been a chance to get out of the rain. There was a coat rack by the door, and an umbrella stand. It was a risky lift but she was tired of being wet and cold. And in the early morning chaos of businessmen and harried PTA moms it was easy to slip unnoticed to the drink orders and nab something hot and delicious.

Moments later Olympia exited the coffee shop wearing an overly large raincoat, with somebody's delicious black coffee clasped between her numb hands.

She’d made it as far as the alleyway, right next door to the shop, before being yanked by the hood of the coat and sent reeling backward. Olympia stumbled and turned, keeping her balance only just barely. When she finally managed to land on her feet she glared at the person who’d assaulted her.

It was the man in the expensive suit. His dark hair was beginning to curl up in the damp air, his suit had tiny drops of water on it from the light drizzle. Yet the man in the suit looked neither pissed to see her stealing his jacket nor upset that he was getting all wet. 

Instead, he said, as if they were old friends, “I believe you have my jacket,” his eyes drifted down to the coffee cup, steaming in her hand, “And my coffee. I’d like them both back please.”

Olympia stared at him dumbfounded. It took her a moment to find her voice. She couldn’t think of an angle, because there didn’t seem to be one. He knew she’d taken his coat, and the coffee probably had his name on it so no play there. Yet as she knew this, Olympia couldn’t get over his reaction to being stolen from. It was the first time she’d been approached with humor for her actions, instead of the (slightly) justified hostility.

Numbly, Olympia shrugged off his jacket. When she handed it to him she saw the moment he caught a whiff of the mildew stank that clung to her. As for his coffee, she took one last sip of that. He’d probably throw it away way to teach her a lesson for stealing it in the first place.

Yet when she hands it to him his eyes crinkle a little at the corners. His lips barely move but somehow Olympia knows he’s smiling at her. She’s amused him somehow.

“How about you keep that one, on me. I can go get another.” 

Olympia shrugged, fine by her, and took another sip.

The man studied her when he should have walked away. She’d given him what he wanted, and if he didn’t plan on calling the cops on her there was no point in sticking around. Olympia turned to walk away, to find another mark and rub together a few pennies for a small meal. Just to tie her over another three days.

“Wait,” the man called after her. Olympia froze. When she turned back to him the man was digging around his pockets. In seconds he produced a money clip, a second later, a gold coin.

“I don’t know your situation. But you look like you could use some help.” The man waited until he was sure Olympia wouldn’t walk off to continue. As if she’d turn away from more money than she’s made in two years.

“With this,” the man raised the money clip, “I can help you for a few days. Maybe a week, if you’re smart.” Lowering the money clip, he raised the gold coin, “With this, I can make sure you never have to steal someone else’s coat again.”

The obvious answer was the money clip. What would Olympia do with a gold coin? And she was young but she’d been on the streets long enough to know that men always wanted something from a woman, even girls. Men always had an ulterior motive. He could be promising her help now, then the next thing she knows he has her out on the street. It wasn’t like Olympia had never given thought to that avenue of making money, but if she was going to be out there it was because _she’d_ put herself out there.

“What’s the catch,”

John’s lips did smile then, but his eyes went dark, “Once you’re in, they will help you. Take care of you like their own. But once you’re out,” his eyes swept the street. Subconsciously Olympia studied the scene around them too. The street they were on was curiously empty for so early in the morning. There should be way more people rushing by for work, cars rushing by to this delivery or that office job. 

Instead, everything was still and quiet. As if everything and everyone had paused to hear the man’s offer too.

“There is no way out.” the man eventually finished.

Olympia studied him carefully, “I want both.”

The man smiled grimly. It was the kind of smile Olympia had seen at a funeral once. The man handed her the money, the coin, and his coat.

“Wait here, I’ll go get another coffee and I’ll take you where you need to go.” The man turned out of the alley, starting back towards the coffee shop. Olympia hurried after him.

“Where do I need to go? Can’t I get your name before you start taking me places?”

At her words, he turned to her. “My apologies,” He held out a hand. His fingers were long and scarred. His knuckles looked as if the skin over them had been broken over and over again. “I’m John.”

  


The Director turns out to be a stern-looking, thin-lipped woman. She calls John 'Jardani' and looks Olympia over like he's tracked mud all over her carpet. Olympia wasn't used to female authority figures. Her own mother had been a weak woman, and Olympia had been in charge of herself for far too long to want to bend for some white woman she'd just met.

But John had been right to bring her to the Director. Olympia was proud, arrogant, and naive. The Director started her training by breaking her. She was taught stretches to protect her muscles and joints, and then run through barre exercises until her calves cramped.

The Director punished her severely when she stopped dancing. Ice water baths in the courtyard at dawn, dancing with a shock collar on and shocks of electricity every time she stumbled, wobbled, or stepped out of place. Olympia's mouth got her into more trouble than her missteps did. The Director taught her quickly that you could say whatever you like if you were willing to face the consequences. 

She learned pretty quickly how to shut the fuck up.

Olympia's diet became better than it had ever been. The meals were healthy, lacking in fat, sugar, and salt but it fueled her. Olympia was used to less so she didn't mind the lack of sweets and junk food. The Director had known that starving her wouldn't rattle her. No, Olympia was a special case, and the Director was nothing if not an expert in special cases.

  


"And...one, two, three-Up!"

Olympia balanced on her toes. She half-turned, lifted her leg and extended her arm.

"Olympia," the Director's voice carried her disapproval across the empty room, rocking Olympia's concentration, "Straight back! Long neck! And...down two, three, four."

  


John visited sometimes. He let her vent to him about her training. He brought gifts, knives and lock picks and once, she'll never forget, a cupcake for her birthday.

"They say I'm too old to be any good! Too thick!" Olympia scoffed.

John nodded quietly. He didn't say much, Olympia learned quickly. He didn't enjoy talking the way she did. And here, with the Ruska Roma, she wasn't allowed a voice.

"They can't decide if they hate me because you recruited me or because the Director won't let me train with the other girls my age."

John made a low, soothing sound, "I'm sure they don't hate you."

Olympia rolled her eyes, a habit even the Director couldn't break her of.

Her peers hated her, Olympia knew hate when she saw it. She didn't understand what made her special to John or the Director and she didn't really appreciate being singled out for it.

"The boys learn martial arts you know. I've begged the Director to let me learn but," Olympia shook her head.

Olympia may be secluded from the rest of the orphans but she knew about the gender-separated training. The girls learned ballet and the boys learned martial arts. Through the grapevine, she heard that John had been a prodigy, the best at everything he learned, the most disciplined.

The Directors Favorite. 

And now people thought Olympia was her attempt at training the perfect female counterpart. It didn't make her feel special to be thought of as a replacement John Wick. She didn't regret choosing this life, two years after the fact. But Olympia still hadn't learned the dangerous stuff. Though she could give Misty Copeland a run for her money.

"I have something for you," John said in that low, sincere way of his. He pulled a box out of his pocket and awkwardly thrust it at her.

Olympia smiled, he remembered. She'd told him her birth date once, not expecting anything of it because it wasn't like she could have a party or eat cake. It wasn't like she'd had that many happy birthday memories to begin with. 

"Happy birthday, Olympia," John said softly. Olympia pulled the red ribbon off the black velvet box. She shook the top off, expecting another knife to go with the collection she now had. Instead, she found a thick, roped platinum chain. A cross, with a crucified Jesus and everything, lay against the black velvet of the box. 

"Oh," Olympia gasped.

John cleared his throat, "Things are going to change for you. You're 18 now which means something different around here,"

Olympia pulled the chain over her head and met John's eyes, "I can handle it."

  


She didn't see John for three years. He left the family for good this time. No more visits, no more odd jobs. John moved on. No one stayed in one place forever. Not with their skills. And the Director could be so meddling. Some people liked that, the mothering. But Olympia understood, or rather, she liked to think she understood, where John was coming from.

Olympia didn't blame him for leaving. And she didn't blame him when her training became harder, the ballet and the… other stuff. The Director was Mama now. And Olympia had made a name for herself in the criminal underworld. 18 years old, and she'd taken out a defector twice her age.

The job had been a bloody mess. She'd seen red for days afterward. And she'd cried. But her client paid the price Mama laid out. And now Olympia had a nice little nest egg. And the admiration of her peers. Although what did that mean, in the end. The same motherfuckers inviting her out for drinks at the Continental, had sneered at the favoritism she'd received. As if she'd asked for it.

Olympia wasn't allowed to go to the Continental, so declining their offers wasn't as fun as it could have been. Mama thought it was a corrupting influence despite the order it operated under. Olympia kept her ears to the ground though. Her peers were good for something after all. And their loose tongues and drunken ramblings kept Olympia fed between bouts of intense ballet practices and assassins training.

She knew John had joined the Tarasov Mob, which worried Mama. She knew he was gaining a reputation for being deadly and efficient, rising through the ranks quickly. This she hated. As John grew in fame, using the skills he'd been taught with the Ruska Roma, all eyes turned back to Olympia. 

It was fucking exhausting.

  


On her 21st birthday, Mama gave Olympia a car and a penthouse apartment in New York. 

"It's time," she said in calm, final voice.

Olympia looked up the face of the building she'd be living in. Then she turned and squinted at the Director. She looked older now. She was still a raven-haired, severe beauty. But Olympia saw the depth of weariness in her steely eyes. She was getting old. She'd start looking for a successor soon. 

And it couldn't be Olympia.

"What am I to do?" Olympia hadn't been in charge of herself in five years. Five years ago she'd been an angry street urchin. Five years ago she'd attempted to steal from John Wick and her destiny was changed from then on out. She had no idea what to do with herself without a schedule or orders to follow.

The Director looked down at her coldly, "You will work and you will grow stronger. You will do what you have to, to survive." The barest hint of a smile ghosted over her thin lips, "You're a survivor Olympia, put that to use."

Olympia chewed her lip, then stopped. The Director hated fidgeting.

"And my mission?" Because that had to still be relevant. It had hung overhead like the blade of a guillotine ready to fall.

The Director put on her sunglasses. Behind them, a limo quietly pulled up and idled on the curb behind them.

"Your orders are the same." She shot Olympia one last, lingering icy look, "And don't slack off."

  


It was honestly too easy for Olympia to get a job once she was out from under the Director's thumb. She'd been causally courted by a few gangs, and one of them had even seemed promising. But ultimately Olympia knew better. She couldn't afford allegiances, favors. Pretty quickly she adopted a persona to make herself disliked though not necessarily hated.

Olympia played into the spoiled little rich girl act they all expected from her anyway. No one knew John had picked her up smelling like mildew and looking like a wet rat off the street. The Director had had her work cut out for her when it came to making Olympia look like a lady of class and privilege.

Now she spoke nearly perfect French, fluent Spanish, Russian and Korean (for fun). As a cover, Olympia was a ballerina for a local company. Ballerinas of Color were having a moment in the dance world so she capitalized on that to give herself something to do between jobs.

As for jobs. Olympia is known to freelance, known for her quick, brutal kills, and her ability to be exactly what's expected of her when it counts. They think she's a kleptomaniac because Olympia makes safecracking a hobby. She's fine with it. The more misinformation out there about her the better.

John never comes up though. He doesn't visit or reach out. Olympia tries not to take it to heart. She quits ballet to model after her twenty-fourth birthday for a more flexible schedule. Her client list was growing and Olympia had grown tired of dance. It had never been a passion of hers. She'd only managed to excel due to her natural athletic ability.

The night of her last show with the company Olympia sends an invitation to the Director, who doesn't respond and doesn't show up. The other ticket she sent to John. Her hopes had been in the gutter. Yet there he was, in the balcony. In a nice suit with his long hair pulled back behind his ears.

After the show, he approached with a bouquet of marigolds and a woman at his side. Olympia jumped on him as soon as she saw him backstage, she hadn't grown any taller than 5'6 she'd been when he met her and he caught her easily. He managed her weight and the truly large bouquet of fragrant blooms with an indulgent chuckle.

"Mon frére!" Olympia cried. John greeted her much more tamely. And he didn't object when she squeezed him closer, desperately, and sniffed the familiar scent of him. Coffee, gunpowder, leather. Home.

She made him carry her to her dressing room and he obliged "the brat" as he called her. When they made it John set Olympia down on the floor, the marigold bouquet on her dressing table, and propelled The Woman forward with a possessive hand on the small of her back. She'd retreated at Olympia's excitement, shrinking into the background as she recognized a family reunion.

But John made her apart of the moment, with lingering, kind eyes he assured her she belonged in the fold.

Olympia bit back a sneer.

"Olympia is like a little sister to me," John's eyes were fond, warm, but weary. He'd no doubt heard of her new persona. They hadn't decided on a name for her yet. In the running was That Black Bitch, the Sticky-Fingered Cunt, and Duchess.  
Olympia wondered what names John knew. She knew all of his.

"We're both orphans," Olympia told The Woman. Her eyes went soft in sympathy, "Nobody wanted us, and now we have each other." 

John gave her a pained look.

"I thought it would be nice if we'd all have...dinner, together." John looked at Olympia, warning in his eyes.

Olympia looked away from him, disappointment roiling in the pit of her stomach. She'd wanted him to come and he was here. No use pouting about who he'd brought along.

Olympia touched a flower petal with the tip of one finger. "It's my last show, did I tell you?" She looked over her shoulder at him. He looked troubled, then masked it.

"The company is throwing me a going-away party," and that was that. She'd politely declined.

John and The Woman congratulated her again, The Woman emphasizing how beautifully she'd danced and how graceful. Olympia made all the right noises as she spoke, all the while staring at the back of John's neck, as he studied the small boxy dressing room.

"Don't be a stranger kid," John cupped her cheek, studying her with dark brown eyes. The only eyes she trusted.

She rolled her eyes because she was expected to and said, "I have a bit of traveling to do for work." Softer, Olympia added, "I'll come visit when I'm stateside." John looked alarmed, then ashamed. No doubt he understood what she wasn't saying, for The Woman's benefit.

"Oh have you found another company to dance for?" The Woman broke the tension and Olympia turned to smile at her.

"No, I've retired from dance. I'm a model now. It offers a more flexible schedule for my hobbies."

The Woman looked starstruck, prompting Olympia to shoot John a curious look. So she wasn't apart of the life then. Pity. She wondered how much John was hiding from her.

They left shortly after, extending another invitation to dinner when she was free.

  


Olympia was in Hong Kong, drinking to excess and just generally "slacking off", as the Director would call it. She was in a clique of It Girls in the Chinese Modeling scene. Mandarin was nothing like Korean yet Olympia picked it up easily. John had taught her back in the old days to challenge her. 

She had early morning shoots and late-night assassinations to keep her busy when news of John's retirement reached her neck of the woods. Olympia cried huge soul-wrenching sobs that had her escorted off set and a forced vacation from her manager. News of her break down had been kept out of the media not to protect her reputation but to protect her profitability.

Olympia told them a relative had died because he might as well have. They bought it, not even bringing up the fact that she was an orphan. It should say something about the state of the world that Olympia had been broken over and over again to be the best liar out there, and a slip up like that went unnoticed entirely.

The wedding invitation arrived soon after. Olympia didn't open it. She didn't leave her apartment. She tried calling the Director, looking for guidance, maybe even some comfort. As little as the woman had given her since knowing her. She didn't pick up. The number was disconnected, probably had been for some time.

  


John arrived on her doorstep with worried eyes that turned to stone when Olympia opened the door dressed in little to nothing. Her attempt at covering up was his old jacket, the one he'd been wearing when they met. Her usually pin-straight hair had returned to its natural wild curl pattern. Olympia looked thin and the bottle still clutched in her hands was obviously the culprit.

"Oh," she breathed. John winced at her breath.

"I came to check on you," John looked past her briefly but otherwise didn't let her out of his sight. His stance told her, even while drunk, that he was prepared for any threat, even her.

"Why? You've never thought me worthy of checking on before" Olympia sounded like a spoiled brat and she supposed she was. John had spoiled her for anyone else, and he didn't even know it.

"Olympia," John's words were sharp, though he didn't raise his voice. He was always so careful with her. 'She's like a sister to me' his words from nearly two years ago haunt her to this day. She can't get them out of her head and Olympia had tried everything up to killing herself to do it.

"Fine! Rescue me!" Olympia yelled, slurred rather, and retreated into her apartment. She left the door open, an invitation at least.

As soon as she turned her back on him her senses become heightened. Olympia couldn't help it. Though she does make sure to keep her mind on searching for a shirt, maybe a robe that wasn't so fucking pathetic and telling. For all that he knew about her, Olympia had never been naked in front of John. He'd never seen her body before the Director's influence and she didn't want him to see it now.

"You act as if you're mourning," John's voice came from the living room as Olympia entered her mess of a bedroom. She found a shirt easily enough and discarded his coat for a long cardigan some guy had left weeks ago.

"Shouldn't I? It's not as if my family hasn't abandoned me. As if my one purpose in life has taken himself out of the game we're playing!" Olympia ranted her way back into the living room to find John sitting uncomfortably on her orange modern couch.

"What?" He looked up at her wearily.

Olympia threw her hands up, "Of course you don't fucking know!" She wobbled, still very much drunk but focused so intently on getting her anger off her chest. Maybe then she'd finally be able to breathe.

"When you brought me in the Director planned on cleaning me up and turning me into a servant. I was too old for ballet they all thought and I was too old to really be 'in the family'," Olympia's eyes burned.

"So," she continued, "I danced my ass off, and I practiced. Until my feet bled. And when I was punished, I didn't cry or scream the way I knew they wanted me to," John began to look angry, thunderous Olympia thought. His expression looked like the tense beginning of a storm.

"And I found a boy who would talk to me despite everyone else acting as if I didn't exist. He taught me martial arts for favors. And soon enough I was kicking his ass. The Director got me a trainer and tutors. She saw potential in me and my destiny was now set."

John shook with anger, "I didn't bring you to her for that,"

Olympia shrugged, "It doesn't matter. I know things I can't unknow. I've done things," she sat on the floor. The room had begun to swim with memory and she felt sick. 

John dropped to his knees in front of her, grabbing her to keep Olympia from sliding to the floor.

"I was given one purpose in life," Olympia blinked away tears. "And you took it away."

John looked confused and murderous all at once, "Tell me," he said, so softly she almost didn't hear it, "What did they train you for."

Olympia sighed, how her head ached. She was tired of today. Couldn't she just sleep?

"Hey, hey!" John shook her. Olympia whined, "What did they train you for?"

"To...destroy John Wick." Olympia closed her eyes, "You were becoming the most dangerous man in the world, everyone needed insurance that when the time came, we could take you out."

"And now," John said with understanding, "I'm taking myself out."


End file.
